On Knife's Edge
by herecomesthepun
Summary: in which New York is blitz-torn, Annabeth is leader of a group of criminals, and one day a boy with haunting green eyes from a rival gang gets held as hostage. Percabeth, AU.


**Chapter 1**

* * *

"Say you want me out of your life  
And I'm just a dead man walking tonight"

– Youngblood, 5 Seconds Of Summer

* * *

An excerpt from Hermes Travell's blog:

I took a trip to New York last week. Many of my counterparts had advised me against it; "trust me, Hermes," they said. "It's not worth it. It's the most dangerous state in the entire country. The crime and death rate is number three in the whole world for a reason."

Initially, I scoffed. It's a state in the US, the home to farmyard hicks and Broadway, for heaven's sake. When I visited New York as a child it had been all the glitz and glamour one would expect from one of the most popular cities in the world – everywhere you looked, there were tall skyscrapers and people in berets and hot pretzel carts. As far as I could remember, New York was beautiful. I just couldn't understand why all my friends were warning me against it. What, were they afraid I'd get sucked into _Wicked_ and never leave?

I was severely mistaken. If you yourself are planning a trip to New York, take this as a warning – don't.

I don't know what happened to it in the thirty years I was gone but it was not the New York I remembered. Everywhere you looked was devastation. The sky was permanently grey from debris and gunpowder and more buildings were felled than upright. I had booked a hotel and was astonished to see how run-down it was – and this was one of the more expensive hotels. The streets were all crumbly and broken, and for some reason there was not a single restaurant.

Upon asking around, I managed to draw a conclusion.

If you live in New York, you are one of two. You are either a civilian, someone who avoids being caught up in anything. You live in a tiny apartment where mould grows on the ceiling and sometimes the hot water cuts out for weeks and you walk to and from school with a gas mask strapped to your waist. You don't carry a gun because you only carry a gun if you're prepared to shoot and if you're prepared to shoot that means there's going to someone ready to shoot at you. You can pretty much carry on with ordinary life, but you live in No Man's Land. You can become a lawyer or teacher or doctor but you have to watch where you walk because you're in the middle of a warzone.

Or, you are in a gang. This, from what I've been told, is the reason behind all the destruction.

There are dozens, scattered across New York. Mostly, they're small, maybe only twenty people in each, and they generally keep out the way, making money through smuggling drugs and tobacco out of the state in intergang trades – however, and in New York especially, there are the two main ones.

There is Minerva. They're an independent gang, formed on the brink of the city's downfall by a woman named Athena Chase. It is a collection of girls that I have been told were of bad beginnings, brought up in foster homes or kicked out and living on the streets. Since its founding, Athena has most unfortunately passed away, and it now being manned by her daughter, Annabeth Chase, alarmingly young at an age no one could give me a direct number but roughly between early- and mid-twenties, but equally as ruthless. Apparently these girls were the group who prowled Brooklyn, my lovely neighbour told me. Around these parts, they didn't see much of the other group. They operated in different boroughs, and Brooklyn belongs to Minerva.

If this isn't enough to scare you off, let me inform you that Brooklyn is apparently a name they don't use anymore. Brooklyn, New York no longer exists. Instead, it is Tartarus.

However, according to the locals, Minerva is nothing compared to the group who roams Queens (which, for the record, is still called Queens, thank goodness). That group is known as Olympus.

They are roughly twice the size of Minerva, with both boys and girls, and they are split into three subsections – Neptune, commanded by a Mr Poseidon Jackson; Jupiter, commanded by Zeus Grace; and Pluto, commanded by Hades di'Angelo. Queens is apparently in almost a worse state than Brooklyn is, which shocks me, because what could possibly be worse than five-year-olds walking hand-to-hand with their mothers to school, both with gas masks dangling around their necks, but almost every building has been destroyed and the ones that aren't are either overcrowded apartment blocks or empty, looming warehouses. They are a dangerous movement and if the fact that New York is predominantly ruled by these two groups isn't scary enough, maybe what is is the fact that they are at war with each other.

I had an inkling ever since the natives had mentioned them. After all, a group does not cause this much havoc to their home turf, especially when they rely on the civilians for gun and bullet production (another horrifying fact – while it is more than possible to get a job as a dentist, an artist, a poet, whatever you want, most of the people make their living creating _weapons_ ). But these two groups are at war with each other, and suddenly the gas masks and broken housing all make sense.

While no one is sure of the reason between this divide – I have received answers ranging from a lover's spat turned toxic, or a blood feud that has only grown worse with time – the most common rumour is that of a want for land (of course). You'd assume Olympus were at a massive advantage, with their size and diversity in members – I certainly did – but that appears not to be the case. Tartarus is apparently a goldmine. Queens has their fair share of good blacksmiths and gunpowder resources, but not as much as Tartarus. Obviously, Tartarus belongs to Minerva, but Olympus wants it – and despite the fact that they have so many more recruits than Minerva, they've never been able to take it.

I was talking to some lovely locals who were more than happy to educate me on the matter. They say there's maybe one big war every year or so, and there are more than dozens of casualties. However, that doesn't mean that there isn't havoc in between.

"What do you mean?" I had asked one of them.

"They have raids every few weeks or so," she explained. "It's an excuse for them to drive around on motorcycles and shoot at each other."

I was horrified. If you travel anywhere in the US, you will feel an air of normalcy. College students struggle with pot noodles and debt and pointless subjects like algebra are still taught in high schools and kids are still being beat up for being fat and businessmen wear tailored suits and talk into headsets, and somewhere there's a poor schmuck who dreams of becoming a singer, and your neighbour is most probably cheating on his wife, and gossip magazines are still making millions selling stories about celebrities, but in New York, what's meant to be the hub of it all – it's like walking into a dystopia.

People used to dream of moving here. Now people dream of moving out.

It's a literal warzone. It's almost spine-chilling to know that next door Pennsylvania is still as ordinary as ever, with maybe a little panic on the borders. New York is not a place you want to go. My heart went out to every single family still stuck in there, who looked at me with amazement when I had informed them I had come here voluntarily and I was leaving in a week. They are toeing the poverty line, but they don't seem to realise it, because grocery shops are limited in food and university is free (hold your horses, college students – that isn't a good thing). You aren't wealthy if you are a New York civilian, because if you are you would have booked a plane ticket out of there years ago.

Long story short? Don't go. New York is terrifying.

Hats off, Minerva and Olympus. You'd made your point.

* * *

 **Tartarus, New York / 2026**

"Sergeant Chase?"

Annabeth looks up from her desk. One of the girls from 13 is standing by the door, fidgeting with her gun, and she can't look Annabeth in the eyes. Annabeth almost wants to shout at her, because this a highly inconvenient time and she really doesn't need any more news about how Drew Tanaka from 67 doesn't like the new bodysuit modifications because they flatten her chest, or how Nancy Bobofit from 41 started another fight in the canteen, because honestly they can all go and screw themselves, but the girl looks so scared Annabeth just breathes and tells herself to cool down before causes another heart attack.

Annabeth sighs and shoves a hand through her rumpled curls. She needs a haircut. "What?"

"Sergeant McLean has requested to see you," she says.

Annabeth suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. For God's sake. "Did she send you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, firstly, you can tell her to screw herself, and if you have any hot substances around your person at the time I'd like you to throw it at her – if she complains tell her it's a personal request from me."

The girl squeaks, half with fright. "Yes, ma'am."

"You can let her in now."

The girl practically sprints out of Annabeth's office. Seconds later, Piper breezes in.

"She looked like she was about to pee herself," Piper says, swinging down in the chair in front of Annabeth's desk. "You know, you can show some human emotion sometimes. You've got half the girls in 32 convinced you're a robot. A smile won't kill you."

"You really sent a girl asking so you could see me?"

Piper grins broadly. "Well, it's a valid question!"

"You don't have be such a brat. That's never stopped you before. You know you can waltz in whenever you please."

"Yes, I know," Piper says. "Perks of being the big, bad Annabeth Chase's best friend."

Annabeth has to roll her eyes. "Well, what do you want?"

"Can't I just come to visit my best friend without there being a liable reason behind it?"

Annabeth gives her a look. "Piper."

Piper sobers. "There was a shooting at the latest raid."

Annabeth wants to slam her head into a wall. "Damn it."

"They had guns. None of the girls were armed."

"Were any killed?"

"One. Lou Ellen, from 19. Three were pretty badly wounded. The others are shaken, but okay."

"Dammit. I knew they should have brought guns. I _told_ them to bring guns."

"There is a bright side," Piper says.

"I can't really imagine what bright side there is to a situation like this, but, fine, what is it?"

"We've got a captive."

That gets Annabeth's interest. "What?"

"His motorcycle wouldn't start. Ran out of gas, we later found."

Annabeth can't herself. She snorts. "Lame."

"We managed to get a good hit on the head. He's knocked out for now. They've put him in the hospital wing."

Piper's eyes are gleaming. Annabeth frowns. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"It gets better."

"Oh yeah?"

"He's one of the Neptune kids."

Annabeth sits up. "You're kidding."

"Not in the slightest. He was wearing a Neptune band."

"You're telling me my girls ran into one of the Olympus gangs – _without_ guns?"

"I mean– _yeah_ , but we finally captured one of them! That's cool, right?"

Annabeth massages her temples, and then points at her. "We're having words afterwards."

"Before you start planning my demise, just remember," Piper says, slightly nervously. "Neptune hostage."

"You led my girls into a raid involving one of the Olympus gangs without guns."

"Well, I mean– it wasn't _me_ , per say. I just issued the raid."

"Without guns."

Piper stands up. "I'll take you to him," she says quickly. "Come on."

She hurries out of the room at top speed. Annabeth stares at the spot she was for a few moments, before laughing and fondly rolling her eyes, and following her out.

"Do we know anything about him?" Annabeth asks as they walk down the hall.

"Not really," Piper says. "We know he's a Neptune agent, obviously, but that's pretty much it."

"Initiate?"

"Doubtful. He put up a hell of a fight before one of the girls got a hit on the head. Smart, fast, and vicious. He has to be one of their best."

"We'd hope so, anyway," Annabeth mutters. "If he's that good and he's just a newbie then either Neptune's been sleeping on him, or we're eternally screwed. And knowing Neptune, it'd probably be the latter."

"Miranda Gardner told me that I probably could've taken him," Piper says. "Which I _think_ was a compliment."

"Piper, if you were angry enough, I'm pretty sure you could take a rhino."

Piper straightens, obviously quite pleased. "Well. I'm glad you think so." She nudges her. " _Agent Chase_."

"Don't get a big head, I'll give you bathroom duties for the next month."

"You wouldn't, you love me too much."

Annabeth quirks an eyebrow.

"Or so I believe," Piper quickly corrects. "Because you're so loving and kind to generous to simply everyone I wouldn't know if you favour me."

"Good save, McLean," Annabeth says. They turn a corner. "But not good enough. You're on kitchen duty for a week, though."

" _What_?"

"I'll make it a month."

Piper simmers furiously. "I'll put caterpillars in your bed," she says viciously. "You won't even see it coming."

"Sometimes I think you forget I'm in charge."

"You just abuse your authority. You're meant to be my best friend."

"I'm doing it because you put my girls in a hostile environment without protection. And I'm being nice here. Anyone else I would have given two months. One of the perks of being best friends with the leader."

"Of the few perks there are." Piper tosses her head. "Well, fine, if you want to be like that. I'm withstanding foot rubs for the next month."

Annabeth dramatically holds her hands to her chest. "Piper, you can't!"

"Make it four days and I'll bring it down to a week."

Annabeth eyes her. "Five days for both."

"Four."

"Four and one morning."

Piper studies her, and then holds out her hand. "Deal."

Annabeth takes it. "Nice doing business with you."

"We wouldn't have to be doing this business if you weren't such as hardass."

"I'll make it two weeks, Piper."

Wisely, Piper shuts up.

They climb a flight of stairs, and then they're in the hospital ward. For the most part, the 'ward' is just a very large room crammed with gurneys and separated into sections with curtain partitions – but Piper just takes her hand and leads her through the throng of beds and oxygen tanks, leading her to the back room, that's usually only reserved for hostages. They've got a few rooms like this scattered across the Minerva buildings, all placed sporadically and very far apart, and Annabeth has been in them lots of times.

But this is the first time they've captured someone as important as a Neptune member. He's part of the Olympian network. He's going to be their goldmine.

Piper unlocks the door, and it opens into a short hallway. At the end, by another locked door, a girl sits, in a bulletproof vest, with a gun tucked into her holster, flicking absently through a magazine. _Drew_. When she notices them, she doesn't even look surprised. She just snaps on her gum boredly.

"He's awake," she says. "In case you cared."

"Drew," Piper says. "How very pleasant to see you, as always."

"Bite me, McLean."

"Can I see him?" Annabeth asks.

Drew shrugs. "I don't know. You're the boss."

"I'll take that as a yes, then," Annabeth says. "Please tell me you're not the only guard."

"'Course not," Drew says. "Princess here is apparently so dangerous half the wardens in the infirmary have guns. We have a rota. I'm nine to one o'clock."

"Thank God," Annabeth says. "You're terrible."

"That's rude."

"You have a magazine."

"He's boring," Drew says. "He doesn't do anything."

"That's because he's tied to a table," Piper says.

Annabeth glances at him. "You had to restrain him?"

"And you say I'm terrible," Drew says, turning the page of her magazine. "When he woke up there was a lot of tremendous crashing going on in there. I would have had a peep in, except I was getting to the good bit on how to perfect mascara application."

Annabeth suppresses the urge to shout at her. Drew isn't really useless – quite the opposite, she's very talented, and she's one of the best shots in the entire block. She can just also be very, very difficult to work with sometimes, because she finds fault in everything.

And it's not even good fault. Only the other day she had complained the sideways stripes on the bodysuits had the tendency of giving you the illusion of looking fat and she just simply wasn't up for that, and Annabeth had wanted to shove her into a paper shredder.

"Just let me in," she says.

Drew sighs, and then, with a lot of excess eye-rolling, presses her hand against the fingerprint scanner on the wall. The laser runs across once, and then beeps, and the door gently pops out of jamb.

Annabeth steels herself, and then pushes it open, stepping inside.

The first thing she sees are the four girls taking turns washing hands at the sink. Two are drying their hands and the last two are scrubbing their hands with a bar of soap. The water in the basin has turned pink, and when Annabeth glances down at their scrubs she sees red all over it. Blood. They turn when they hear her come in, and they give her smiles.

"Hey, Sergeant Chase," one says.

"Hey," Annabeth says. Piper follows her inside. "How's everything going?"

"Oh, simply _swimmingly_ ," a voice says dryly, and Annabeth turns around, and, for the first time, notices the boy.

He's been restrained to the bed, with leather straps around his wrists, ankles and waist. He looks pretty beaten up, with a black eye, a split lip and dried blood crusted around the side of his face from what looks like a nasty gash on his temple, but it's the look in his eyes that floors Annabeth. He's got brilliant green eyes, like a flash of the sea, and he's _angry_.

Despite his tattered appearance, he manages a mirthless laugh when she walks in. "Well, well, well," he rasps. "If it isn't the big, bad, Annabeth Chase." He gives her a once-over. "Have to say, I'm slightly underwhelmed."

Piper makes a move towards him but Annabeth stops her. "You talk a big game," she says, "for someone currently in shackles."

The boy cocks an eyebrow. "Yes, that did seem a little unnecessary. Afraid you wouldn't be able to hold your own against me?"

"I'll punch him," Piper offers.

"Leave," Annabeth says. "I can handle this."

"Yes, you go, princess," the boy says. "You wouldn't want to break a nail fighting off a mean, mean boy like me."

" _Please_ let me punch him."

"Piper," Annabeth says, in a warning voice.

Piper scowls, and then marches out the room. The four girls follow her, nodding at Annabeth as they pass.

Now it's just Annabeth and the boy left in the room alone together. He's tied down to the bed and Annabeth is the one with the power, and the weapon, but she feels a sense of panic take flight in her stomach. This boy is powerful. If he's in Neptune, he's going to be good – maybe even as good as her. Probably better. Those restraints won't do much for him if he's going to let his mouth do all the work.

She considers asking for a gag, but then she realises that that'll be admitting weakness, and she wants to keep herself as collected as she can.

The boy smirks at her tiredly as the door slams behind Piper. "Tsk," he says. "For a powerful gang leader, Miss Chase, you really are careless. I now know one of your associate's names. That's sloppy work."

"It won't be any use to you," Annabeth says. "You'll probably spend the rest of your life in this building, and by the rest of your life I mean however many weeks it'll take for you to talk."

The boy gives her a look, and Annabeth feels chills go up her spine. That's the look of a survivor. He's smiling but it's mirthless and his eyes are freezing. "And what happens if I don't talk?"

"Then we kill you," Annabeth says simply. "You're nothing to us if you don't talk."

"Leverage. Bait."

"If you think Neptune is going to risk half their members to save one you're mistaken."

"I wouldn't be so sure. You underestimate my worth."

Annabeth gives him a look. "You sound confident."

"I am confident."

"Well, you'd better be, because we're not using you as bait. The only thing that's going to save you now is if your precious little gang pulls through."

For a split second, his face cracks, and Annabeth knows she's got him. "They will."

"If you say so." She walks over to the table. "How's your head?"

"What?"

"Your head? I know my girls managed to dig out the tracker from the base of your skull. Apparently they didn't even put you under, either. I trained them well. I just want to make sure you feel okay, so we can keep you alive longer."

The boy scowls. "It's fine."

"You're an adorable liar," Annabeth tells him. "How's your head, really?"

"Hell."

Annabeth wanders over and tilts his head to the side. He grimaces as she does – from pain or the fact that in these restraints he's as useless as a rag doll – and Annabeth lets out a low whistle as she spots the hole in the back of his neck. It's scabbed over but it's wide and it's going to be deep, too. There's blood crusted in his hair and on the pillow, and as Annabeth probes his head to the side the fabric of the pillow pulls against the scab, and he winces.

"Did they patch you up?" she asks.

"They put a knife in my head without anaesthesia, what do you think?"

Annabeth nods. "I thought so." She pokes at it, just because, and his whole body tenses. "They did a good job. Hit some nerves, I'd reckon. Did they touch bone?"

"You're a psycho."

"We're no different from you. I'm going to have to stitch this up, is that all right?"

"As if you'll listen to me."

"Good boy, you're already catching on." She stands up and picks up a needle and some thread from a table by the side, as well as a bottle of iodine and a box of matches, and then sits next to the bed. She opens the box of matches and strikes one right by his face. To his credit, he doesn't even flinch, even when the flame catches the cut next to his eye. He just stares resolutely at the ceiling.

She sterilises the needle over the flame, badly, and then, while it's still hot, threads it up. "This is going to hurt," she says. "Do you need a pillow to scream into?"

"I'll be okay."

"I doubt it, but whatever you say," she says.

She keeps up a steady conversation as she sews up the back of his head. Despite herself, she does try to be careful. She works quickly and neatly. Normally in situations like these, she'd make it as excruciating as she could, continuously re-sterilising the needle right by the open wound, yanking at the string, pressing her cold, dirty fingers to it, but there's something about those eyes, about the way that he doesn't even make a sound, just keeps looking up at the ceiling, that stops her, and she works with the efficiency and skill of a trained nurse. She doesn't stop talking.

That's not something she does, either. Torture is about prolonging it and making it as endless as possible. She tells herself it's to get him prepared for what's really coming.

Eventually, she pats his shoulder. "You're all done."

The boy nods, shakily. He's in a lot of pain, she realises. Being trained in a gang builds up your pain tolerance, but there's just something about having a needle go through already damaged skin that does it for you. Annabeth almost leaves him, but then her feelings get the best of her, and she stands up and gets him a glass of water and a damp towel.

"Here," she says. "Drink."

He shakes his head.

"It's not poisoned, and I swear my heart on that. Killing you now would be no good."

He eyes her suspiciously, and then nods. Because he's strapped down, she has to do it herself, gently tilting the cup up so he can drink. She has to cup the back of his head so he isn't completely horizontal, and her fingers accidentally catch his wound, and his whole face twists up.

Those girls really did a number on him. Normally, she'd be proud. She tells herself that she still is.

Once the boy realises the water isn't a trick, he drinks greedily. Annabeth lays the damp towel over his forehead, and patiently waits as he drinks the entire glass. He finishes with a sigh, and then drops his head back heavily onto the pillow, breathing heavily. Annabeth makes a mental note to make sure her girls give him regular water breaks.

"Better?" she asks.

He huffs out a laugh. "You just stuck a needle into a hole in the back of my head. A cup of water isn't going to fix that."

"Suit yourself," Annabeth says, undeterred. She puts the empty glass on the table. "What's your name?"

"I'll die before I tell you that."

"You know mine. Quid pro quo, right?"

He eyes her. "What difference will it make? You'll still treat me like less than human whether or not you know my name."

She almost rolls her eyes. This whole pity-me complex is getting tired quick. "If I was going to treat you like less than human I'd have you shackled to the floor, making you drink water out of bowls, and I would have already been whipping you within an inch of your life for answers. Despite whatever inhibitions you hold against for me for no other reason than pure prejudice, I do have a heart, and even though, yes, we will probably be killing you quite soon, I don't want you to be massively uncomfortable in this fleeting time you'll be spending with us."

He sighs, and looks back up at the ceiling. "Percy."

"Huh?"

"You wanted my name? It's Percy."

"Percy." It feels nice coming out of her mouth. _Percy_. It's a solid, well-rounded name. "It's nice to meet you, Percy."

Percy scowls at her. "I'd say the same thing, but it's really not."

"Fair enough."

At that moment, there's a knock on the door. They both look over, and Annabeth sees Piper's head appear around the frame. "Sorry to interrupt," she says, in a voice that says she's really not, "but I'll need to borrow Annabeth."

"Take her," Percy says, letting his head fall back on the pillow. "I was getting sick of her anyway."

Before Piper can actually launch herself at Percy, Annabeth stands up and quickly asks her, "What's up?"

Piper pulls a face. "Bobofit has an acrylic nail to the face. It's embedded itself pretty deep in there."

"For heaven's sake." Annabeth scrubs a hand over her face, and then starts to head over. "I'll see you later, Percy."

Percy just snorts.

Together, they both leave the hospital wing. Drew ignores them as they walk out the door, still engrossed in her magazine, but she locks it behind them as they leave, effectively trapping Percy in there. They walk down the hallway.

"So?" Piper says. "How is he?"

"Strong. If we let him out of those restraints he could easily kill all of us."

"Not you."

"Even me. He's– you didn't see his face, Piper. I don't know what they do to those kids in Neptune, but whatever it is it turns them into machines. I put a _needle_ in his neck and he didn't even flinch."

Piper's face is troubled. "Did you get his name?"

"Percy. That's all he'd tell me."

"Do you think he's lying?"

"Why would he? He knows he's going to die here."

"Yeah."

They both want to say more, but they don't know how to. Annabeth just sighs. "Let's go and sort out this out."

* * *

 **update 14/01/2020**

hello all!

so some of you may be wondering "where did the rest of on knife's edge go?", and that's a great question!

to be completely honest, i took it down because i just really really don't like it. I love all my stories up here very dearly, even the mildly cringey ones like iSpy (don't get me wrong that thing is my baby and I will defend her to the death however there are some parts of it that I read and go wow ok) and I want to put up my best work. (Yes, that even means iSpy.) And I was writing oke I never really properly loved what I was doing with it – I think I kind of shoehorned it into a corner and then I was stuck so I was like ahh cool let's keep going

(also not sure if any of you guys could tell but I was literally making things up as I went along you all FLATTER me when you say "I can tell you put so much thought in this" I had like the barest hint of a skeleton that was so bare if you blew on it it would like disappear like have u went back and read iSpy plot holes EVERYWHERE) (I'm sorry I love iSpy) (character development it's important for the soul)

however, i've left up the first chapter, because it is still a story i worked hard on, MEANING that if ur here on a reread or you're reading this for the first time and r filled with intrigue, **just PM me** and i can send you a PDF of the full story. i'm really sorry to everyone who did enjoy the story, but i've been thinking about taking it down frankly since the last chapter and i felt that i may as well do it now. sorry again!

mia x


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